The Burgundy Stain
by inkfiction
Summary: It's like her own personal fairytale, and Regina is everything a girl can ever ask for, and more. She can't imagine she had ever contemplated leaving this place or taking her son away from Regina. This right here, the three of them, it is the happiest ending possible.


**Title:** The Burgundy Stain  
**Fandom:** Once Upon a Time**  
Pairing:** Swan Queen (Emma Swan/Regina Mills)  
**Spoiler/Warning:** Not really. Angst.  
**Summary:** It's like her own personal fairytale, and Regina is everything a girl can ever ask for, and more. She can't imagine she had ever contemplated leaving this place or taking her son away from Regina. This right here, the three of them, it is the happiest ending possible.  
**Disclaimer:** This is purely fictional. I own none of it.

[…]

_A/N: The idea had been there months ago, when I first chanced upon the lyrics of 'The Burgundy Stain', it just took me this long to give it form. Thomas Bartlett's voice is made of sad, slow, rainy evenings, and lonely piano chords. You can listen to it on YouTube (it is very slow, beware). Also (as per my usual stories) this fic is prone to get sad. The interval between flashbacks varies._

_I know I have been pretty absent for the past few months. I won't give any excuses except that it's not been an easy time, and I know it gets tiresome waiting on stories that just don't get updated, and I understand all of you who unfollowed/gave up. I would, too. But I wanna thank the ones who stuck it out: you guys are awesome. And believe me when I say I am really, really trying to finish all the incomplete stuff. Now, read on. Hope you like it! xD_

…

_Broken together, lonely apart  
it colors your lips, it colors your heart  
if the story's broken, well, it's easy to mend  
and if you don't love her, you can always pretend_

_the air goes still now, and it's starting to rain  
but it won't wash away the burgundy stain  
__**~The Burgundy Stain — Doveman**_

…

"_Did you ever love me?" Emma asks from the other side of the bed, face turned away, towards the wall._

_There is silence, and then:_

"_No," says Regina._

[...]

"Sheriff," says the Mayor. "I hope you prepared your speech well in hand?"

Emma turns away from the mirror in the hallway to look at Regina, nonplussed. "Speech?"

"Yes, Miss Swan, the speech. It is customary for the newly elected Sheriff to give a speech at the ceremony," Regina says, eyeing Emma's uniform critically. "Or did you not know that?"

"No," Emma lets out a sigh and turns back to the mirror, trying to straighten the tie on her Sheriff's uniform and instead managing to run it even more askew.

Regina rolls her eyes. "Come here," she orders in the same tone she uses on Henry when he tries to wriggle out of eating his broccoli.

Unsurprisingly, Emma obeys.

"A tie is the simplest of things," Regina says, unraveling Emma's ungainly knot and starting anew.

"Agree to disagree," Emma says, face flushing as Regina's fingertips brush again and again against her neck, caressing her throat, uncomfortable at the Mayor's close proximity.

"Even Henry could've taught you this knot," Regina says, fingers light and deft, and dancing around on Emma's chest which suddenly feels very constricted to Emma.

"Well," she says. "It's not like I am going to wear this ridiculous uniform ever again."

"Pity. It suits you well."

Emma blushes rather prettily.

"Occasions might arise, Sheriff, you never know."

Emma shrugs. "Then I'll be ordering a clip on, I think."

Regina almost gasps. "No sheriff of mine is ever going to wear something as — _tacky_ as a clip on tie!"

"Guess you'll be stuck with tie duty, then."

"Guess I will be."

"Why are you being nice to me?"

"I am a nice person."

"Not as far as I know."

"Maybe you need to know me better," Regina says, a smile on her lips that can be called nothing but mischievous, and then, smoothing down the ugly brown tie one last time, fingers lingering for a fraction of a second longer than is necessary, she turns on her heels and leaves.

[...]

"_Never? Not once? Not one tiny bit?"_

_The silence is longer this time._

"_No," Regina finally says._

[...]

She is at the Sheriff's station when Emma returns; it's later in the night than expected and she is leaning against Emma's desk, tapping away at her phone. She puts it down when she sees Emma, on whose face the surprise of finding the Mayor in her office at this time of the night is evident.

"I saw Michael Tillman's truck a while ago. Seems like he took the children in, after all."

"He did," Emma says shortly.

"I wonder what happened."

"My car broke down and I called for a mechanic. Guess he had a change of heart when he saw the kids with his own eyes."

"Well, what a fairytale! Once again Sheriff Swan saves the day. It's becoming quite the theme here in Storybrooke."

"No thanks to you," Emma, clearly, is still pissed.

"I did the best I could, Sheriff. I followed the rules."

"Sure you did. What do you want, Regina?"

"Many things," says Regina with a faint smile. "But doesn't everyone?"

Emma sighs, weariness creeping into her body. "What do you want right now?"

Regina tilts her head to a side to look at Emma.

"Have you been crying?" Her voice is much softer this time.

"What? No," Emma feels the prickling in her eyes again even as she denies it. "Why would I cry?"

"Really, Sheriff Swan, for all the tough act you put up, you are actually just a sentimental sap."

Emma's jaw hardens. "Glad we cleared that up. Will you please leave now? I had a long day and I have a report to write."

"Have lunch with me tomorrow."

"_What?"_

"Lunch, Sheriff. I'm asking you to eat with me."

"Why?"

Regina sighs.

"Why do two attractive people ever eat together, Sheriff?"

"Like — like a date?" Emma stutters.

"You could call it that if it makes you feel better."

Emma's eyes are wide as saucers.

"You're asking me out?"

"Slow, aren't you?"

Emma opens her mouth and then closes it without saying anything.

Regina smiles. "Pick me up at 1.30 from the Town Hall. I know just the place, and, no, it's not Granny's."

Emma just stares at her and Regina rolls her eyes.

"Do we have a date, Sheriff?"

Emma nods, dumbfounded.

"Good. See you tomorrow, then."

...

Where Regina takes her is a little place filled with warm, golden lights and honeysuckle scented candles. Their table is in a cozy little corner beside a window. On the sill are flowerpots overflowing with blossoms — tiny white and yellow ones, and bunches of purple.

Regina breaks a sprig.

"Rosemary," she says, placing it in Emma's slightly sweaty palm, deep violet over pale skin. "For remembrance, it is said."

_[...]_

_Emma remembers the sprig, still pressed between the pages of her favorite book._

"_It was all lies?"_

"_All of them."_

[...]

Their fourth lunch date — if it is to be called that; they just sit and eat and talk a little — Emma is unable to make it because of a mountain of paper work so Regina brings take out. She sits on the edge of the desk, coat off, white shirtsleeves rolled up, and watches as Emma's untidy scrawl fills page after page.

"Is this some way of showing me that I work you too hard? A peaceful, Gandhi-esque protest?"

Emma rolls her eyes. "I am not trying to prove any points. It's the end of the month and these files have to be finished."

"So you're saying you've been lazy all month?"

Emma raises exasperated eyes to look at Regina, sitting there, legs dangling childishly to and fro. "Why did you never consider being a lawyer?"

"I did," Regina says. "Being Mayor seems more fun."

"Right," Emma gets back to work. "Fun."

"Food's getting cold," Regina says after a while.

"Start eating."

Regina makes a noncommittal sound in her throat.

"What, not hungry?"

"I don't want to eat alone," Regina says softly.

Emma's pen pauses, and then she puts it down with a sigh. "All right. I suppose I've earned a break," she says, and stands up.

And that's when Regina pulls her into herself, eliciting a faint gasp. Silencing it with her lips, her arms go around Emma's neck, legs exerting pressure to keep her prisoner. For a few moments Emma freezes, and then her hands slide up Regina's arms, slow, hesitant, her lips return the pressure, mirror the movement. Regina's lips are soft and her tongue is softer and somewhat magical.

Soon breathing becomes an issue.

"Food's getting cold," Emma says, voice breathless as she forces herself to move away, and Regina laughs.

[...]

"_I don't understand." Emma's voice is a little broken, and very sad. "Why? Why would you—?"_

"_I didn't want to lose my son," Regina says, voice toneless._

"_I wasn't — I'd never — I — so, you — I thought you loved me!"_

"_Well. I didn't."_

[...]

Their first time together, the morning after, Emma is woken by soft, insistent kisses all over her face and the tip of a cold nose snuggling into the side of her neck. The sky outside is still a pearly grey and Emma groans.

"The sun isn't even out yet, jeez! We just slept, Regina!"

"Hmm," Regina says, pressing closer. "I didn't want you to run away before I woke up."

"I wasn't going to."

"Really?"

"No," Emma sighs and turns over to face her. "Okay. I probably would have."

"Now you don't have to."

Emma runs a hand down Regina's bare arm. "I don't know whether to be relieved or terrified."

Regina laughs, entwining their fingers with each other.

"If you're scared," she says, shifting her weight and entangling their legs. "I know some pretty effective remedies," she maneuvers her torso on top of Emma's. "You know."

"Hooboy! Do I ever!" Emma says, suddenly breathless.

"I'm not going to let you run away," Regina trails a line of kisses along Emma's neck and whispers in her ear.

The next half hour is a glorious recap of the whole night they've just spent, and Emma finds herself beneath the Mayor and her glittering dark eyes, lips stretched into a dazzling smile, dark hair in utter disarray. Emma raises a hand, long fingers cupping a smooth, olive cheek, and Regina tilts her head to a side to place a gentle kiss on the pulse on Emma's wrist. Emma lets out a soft, content sigh.

"I love you."

It is a bare whisper but Emma hears it and is suddenly, completely still for a moment. "Y-you do?" She stumbles on her words; it is kind of adorable. "I mean—"

Regina's forefinger taps her mouth, silencing her; she replaces it with her lips. The kiss is slow, lazy, and long. It leaves Emma slightly dazed, and with a goofy little smile on her lips.

"Me, too," she whispers against Regina's lips.

[...]

"_But you said you did."_

"_I say a lot of things."_

"_You said—"_

"_I lied."_

[...]

There is nothing special about the day except that Emma is chopping onions in Regina's kitchen. Regina isn't home, neither is Henry.

Earlier that morning Emma catches a couple of kids cutting class and trying to vandalize the convent walls. She apprehends them, arrests them, fines them, gives each a couple of months of Community service, and is so pleased with her work that she gives herself the rest of the day off, leaving a deputy in charge. And since she's recently taken to experimenting with food, she lets herself into Regina's house, and, after carefully browsing the internet, selects a recipe that seemed easy peasy on the web pages, but hence far is proving slightly tricky. Although Regina does have a well-stocked kitchen (Emma has shown her appreciation by making herself two different kinds of sandwiches, and is thinking about a third one while she tries to do cook-y things).

So when Regina peeks in (wondering what were the strange _'whack! whaaaack! whump!'_ sounds in her kitchen), she finds Emma poring over the cutting board, trying to chop the onions into even squares — and failing. The cutting board is a riot of onion pieces in every shape but square.

"Emma! What are you doing?"

The reply to this greeting sounds something like, "Hey_aaaaow! Ow!"_

And it is Regina's fault, really. She should have known that Emma Swan, a chopping board, a big knife, and a sudden greeting do not make for a recipe for success. Now the marble counter is speckled with blood; it drips down an index finger, thick, red, copiously. Regina sighs as she marches forward to grab the Sheriff's hand to raise it above her head and lead her out of the kitchen.

The expression on Emma's face is that of a lamb being led off to slaughter, and Regina is amused. Which, Emma thinks, is unfair.

Five minutes later the wounded finger is swaddled in gauze and Emma sits on the couch, feeling like a martyr and smelling strongly of antiseptic and onions. Regina is still amused until she's nervous. And then she gets down on one knee, pinstriped suit and all, and reaches inside her jacket. And there's a Tiffany blue box in her hand, and there's a very bright, shiny ring in the box. And then Emma is crying.

"You're crying?" Regina gets worried. "Why are you crying?"

"Onions!" Emma says and cries some more.

The ring is a perfect fit.

[...]

"_I believed you!"_

"_You believed a lot of things."_

"_How can you lie about loving someone?"_

"_One can lie about anything."_

"_But you asked me to marry you!"_

"_I did what I had to do."_

[...]

They get married in late May under Regina's apple tree which is in full blossom. Henry is probably the first boy in the history to give away one mother while being the best man to the other (they draw straws, and Regina gets the best man). In one of the few girly moments of her life, Emma decides to wear a dress. For once she chooses simply and wisely: a simple, off the shoulder, white column dress, and Regina is the one who waits under the altar in a white suit.

The sky is cerulean and the grass has never been greener. The air smells of spring. They say _'I do'_ and apple blossoms gently rain down on them as Henry hands them the simple white gold bands.

At the reception, they dance to Nina Simone, and Dean Martin, and Regina spins Emma until she's dizzy, and then she kisses her until she's even dizzier, and Emma's never been so happy in her life before. Ever.

It's like her own personal fairytale, and Regina is everything a girl can ever ask for, and more. She can't imagine she had ever contemplated leaving this place or taking her son away from Regina. This right here, the three of them, it is the happiest ending possible. For the first time in her life, Emma can see the happiness, and it is not fleeting; she can see it going on and on, forever.

For the first time in her life Emma believes in fairytales and happy endings.

They settle into a routine pretty soon, with their jobs and their son. If there are ever arguments, or if Regina is ever snappy, she makes up for it later, at night, when they are alone. There is talk of babies and other things, and Emma thinks this is life.

This is everything she never knew she wanted, or needed.

[...]

"_Why?"_

"_You were going to take my son away from me."_

"_And this was the only thing you could come up with?"_

"_I did what I had to do."_

[...]

And then it is the silliest thing, one of her own harebrained mistakes. She leaves in a hurry one morning and forgets her badge at home. A badge less town Sheriff just doesn't do, so she comes back to get it.

There are voices coming from the study.

"Our business is now conducted. I think you better leave."

"Such a charitable host as always, Madam Mayor."

"The door's right there, I trust you can show yourself out."

The scrape of a chair, the thump of a walking stick, a few dragging footsteps, and then:

"You should really think about coming clean, one of these days."

There is a heavy silence in the room; Regina's voice cuts through it like a whip.

"Excuse me?"

"Don't you think your silly little love story has gone far enough?"

"I don't do love stories."

"Oh, but things one does for their children, dearie," his voice is honey sweet but his tone is cruel. "Like pretending to love someone you actually hate with all your heart, and marrying them so that they can't take your child away."

Emma's heart skips a few beats in the quiet that follows, and then Regina's voice comes, soft, precise.

"I don't actually hate her."

"Oh, that's right," he lets out a mocking little laugh. "What was it you said? You feel _nothing_ for her. That's worse than hate, don't you think?"

Emma's heart shatters.

And, strangely, pathetically, in that moment she wishes not that she had never fallen in love with or married Regina, no. She wishes she had never forgotten her badge at home that day, never stopped outside the study to listen to the conversation going on inside, never uncovered what lay beneath the golden mask of her happiness, because this, this truth, this reality is so terrible that she wishes it had never come out.

All she had wanted had been a happy ending.

She's too slow to leave, and clumsy; she stumbles into one of Regina's spiffy little vases. It falls. Crystal shatters into a hundred pieces. She looks up to find Regina looking at her with horrified eyes from the doorway to her study.

"Emma…" she begins.

Emma doesn't stop, she turns, sending another vase crashing to the floor, and runs out of the room, out of the house. Gold's laughter rings in her ears even after she's in her office and the door is locked behind her back.

[...]

"_So, if not before, what about now?" Emma says, voice getting hoarser as it gets harder to not cry. "Do you, Regina? Because I do, with all my heart. Do you?"_

_The silence that greets this question and stretches late into the morning is answer enough, she thinks._

_The only sound that eventually comes is a single sob, and Emma knows it's her own._

[...]

Emma packs her bag as the first rays of sun light up the world. But 'packing' maybe isn't the word. She just dumps a couple of her old jeans, a few shirts and a spare jacket in an old duffel bag she brought from Boston and never threw away despite Regina's several ultimatums. Minimal toiletries follow.

Outside, on the apple tree, sparrows sing.

The rest of the house is shrouded in that early morning silence; Henry hasn't woken up yet. Regina sits up and watches. A pair of boots goes in next, and then her baby blanket. Emma picks up the framed picture of Henry from the side table, and then pauses before adding the frame beside it to the bag as well.

It shows the three of them on their wedding day, captured in the moment Henry was handing them the rings. The smiles on their faces are beatific.

_All false,_ Emma thinks as she wipes the tears that have been flowing silently for how long, she doesn't know. _All lies. All wrong._

She dresses quickly but efficiently: dark jeans, wife beater, grey shirt, red jacket, boots. She almost looks like the Emma who came to Storybrooke two and a half years ago. Almost.

She zips the bag, the sound deafening in the silent room, and finally looks at Regina.

"Don't tell Henry. Just — tell him that I ran away. Left without a note. Something like that."

She picks up her keys and phone from the dresser.

"Don't go," Regina's voice is so soft, so low, it's barely audible.

Emma pauses and looks up for a moment from where she is trying to zip up her jacket. She shakes her head before looking down again to complete the task. She steps forward and hefts the bag onto her shoulder.

"Emma, please."

Regina's voice shakes slightly this time, and Emma makes herself not look because she knows that Regina's crying. Emma knows she is, too. And she doesn't know what is worse — the pleading excuses Regina gave when Emma had finally come home from the Sheriff's station, or the toneless, emotionless demeanor she adopted when those excuses didn't work, or this. Because Regina sounds like somebody is ripping her soul from her body, and for a moment Emma wavers, and then she remembers she's been living a lie for the past two years, that most probably this is a lie as well, and her heart shatters all over again.

She turns, head bent, and reaches for the door handle.

"Emma!" It's desperate. "I do. Please, Emma. I do!"

Emma pauses, one foot outside already, hand gripping the door frame; the bag on her shoulder strains her trapezius as she turns her neck to look back.

Regina is standing at the foot of the bed, face colorless, eyes bright as the morning sun, voice shaky.

"I do."

Emma pauses for a very long moment.

[...]

"_I do," Regina says, voice barely more than a whisper. "I do, I do, I do! I always did!"_

**_~fin~_**

_A/N: And the ending, dear reader, I leave to you. Because I know what I would've written and that makes me sad. Can't wait to know what you guys think._


End file.
